heavy-winged thieves. Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Makes faint with too much sweet these I know not how thy joy we ever should Rain-awakened flowers, All that ever was Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, 95 Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the doth surpass. Teach us, sprite or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine; I have never heard Praise of love or wine 60 That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine: Chorus Hymenæal, Or triumphal chant, Matched with thine would be all But an empty vaunt, 65 A thing wherein we feel there is some hid- Music, when soft voices die, 105 Alas! I have nor hope nor health, Nor peace And walked with inward glory Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure. Unfathomable Sea! whose waves are years, woe Are brackish with the salt of human tears! Others I see whom these surround-25 THE WORLD'S WANDERERS 45 5 And sick of prey, yet howling on for 15 When I arose and saw the dawn, Tell me, thou Star, whose wings of light And noon lay heavy on flower and tree, |